


A Purrfect Evening

by kwamii



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Smut, Smut, puns are the best aphrodisiac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10979133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwamii/pseuds/kwamii
Summary: When Chat Noir visits his girlfriend, he can hardly keep his hands off her. Thankfully, Marinette has similar ideas.





	A Purrfect Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! More Marichat May!! Sin v.2!!! 
> 
> (for me, v.1. In fact, it's v.1 forever. my first 'sin fic'. i'm growing older.)
> 
> (the m rating is for a Descriptive Make Out)
> 
> Inspired in part by [my own dumb comic](https://kwa-mii.tumblr.com/post/160416548111/a-heartfelt-marichat-interaction-inspired-by-an)

Since he'd started dating Marinette, Chat Noir had developed many new talents.

One: fabricating the truth. This one had been necessary ever since he had received his miraculous, and needed to come up with all varieties of reasons why he was late to classes, disappeared in the evenings, sported a new injury. But romance was a new strain on the truth. Sometimes, he forgot where the lines between Adrien and Chat blurred, and had to stumble out with reasons why he knew certain things that one identity shouldn't. And when Adrien sported hickies on his neck... make up was one of the ultimate truth concealers. Not that he minded - he wanted to show off what his princess did for him - but he was sure that Marinette, intelligent as she was, would realise his identity as soon as she seized on some sort of clue. Certain rules had to be followed, after all, no exceptions.

Two: parkour. Again, this one came with being Chat Noir, who had found much use in scaling the heights of Paris, clambering over chimney tops and scattering roosting doves with his step. But there was no greater use of this agility than in finding new ways to climb into his lover's bedroom. Swooping in from across the street, dropping in from above, climbing up the railings like a self-styled Romeo... he tried to keep it spicy.

Three: kissing. This was the newest, and without a doubt the best, of his new pursuits. He could spend hours just kissing Marinette. In fact, he did. And, further to the fact, that was exactly how he intended to spend the next few.

Gliding in from the rooftops above, Chat Noir landed on the sill of one of Marinette's windows and knocked gently. She was at her desk, head bowed over some homework, but when she saw him, her face lit up and she darted over to open the hatch for him. Feeling all soft and fizzy at her eagerness to see him - he still wasn't over it, that she liked him - he jumped up onto her balcony and prepared some dazzling opening line for her, but hers was quicker, more dazzling in its very simplicity, "You've made my evening purrfect. I'm so glad you're here."

That pun? Swoon. 

"You too," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

"I'm always here. This is where I live," she grinned, ringing his bell and pulling him down into her bedroom. Her excitement was such that he lost his balance, clattering into her as he reached the floor. Already, so soon, he was pressed up against his princess, and her smell and her touch and her warmth ignited his longing for her.

Pretending those soft feelings weren't urging him to catch her in a long embrace, he quirked an eyebrow at her, "Woah there, easy tiger."

"Easy, _chaton_ ," she purred, twining her hands at the base of his neck and drawing him in for a kiss. His want for her had been obvious despite his attempts to disguise it - she had caught the flicker of his eyes, noted the imperceptible way his body leaned into hers, perceived the slight twitch of his claws - but this definitely wasn't a bad thing. It made him less cool, sure, but her kissing also, inevitably, made him _hot_.

She kissed him slowly, he kissed her deeply. He pulled her towards him by the waist, pressing their bodies closer so that he could absorb more of her warmth on his. Her fingers were knotted gently into the locks at the base of his neck, keeping his mouth on hers. Hesitant, he noted, to let him part for breath. There was insistence in that kiss, yet also some sort of restraint.

It was clear that each of them had been dealing with their own longings today, and Chat was torn between prolonging this tender, sweet, aching kiss - that mouth so soft on his, the faint swell of her breath between her indulgent lips - and delving deeper into it. So he compromised, and, maintaining that gentle rhythm, he let his hands wander. His fingers inched down the small of her back, cool claws curving around the edge of her shirt and onto the flesh beneath.

Marinette shivered. It wasn't just the suddeness of air on her back, but those claws too. She had learnt - and so had Chat, and he loved to use this knowledge to their mutual advantage - that the coolness of metal, tracing its lines and curves across her own, delivered a sensation subtle yet acute. Though she still longed to feel his gentle fingertips, none of that coarse leather, the claws he wore provided their own pleasure in skin's absence. And when Chat played rough...

Just the thought of it made Marinette shiver again, and Chat smirked against her lips - not knowing why she did so, but knowing it was good. Encouraged, his hand made its way up her shirt, flicking against the clasps of her bra. The other, down slightly, pressing into her ass.

As his hands cupped the swell of ass into thigh, Marinette tightened her grip on Chat's hair, her breath a whisper in his ear, "Not so easy, _chaton_. Harder."

Her request hot on her tongue, she bit into the sliver of neck above his collar. And as he obliged, hand squeezing down hard on her ass, she recaptured his lips, harder this time, faster. Her kisses were hot, unrefined, and delicious, faint of strawberry and pure of want. He tugged her closer - or maybe it was her, it was hard to tell in the sudden clash of their skin - and, with a deft flick of a finger, his claw unhooked her bra. Or, perhaps, tore. The details were unimportant, because what mattered was that he could feel that smooth back, curve his palms around to touch the small rounds of her breasts.

And she moaned, and the new cavern of her exultant mouth was inviting, and Chat was halfway trying to slide his tongue between her lips when Marinette pulled him back onto her bed. Another clatter, but this time it was somewhat more awkward. Someone's teeth bit into Chat's tongue, and his leg drove down a bit too hard between hers in the fall, and then they were both moaning in pain. Marinette squinted up at Chat, discomfort edged upon her face, and Chat frowned back, cradling his red-sore jaw in his hand. 

Then, Marinette laughed, snaking her arm around Chat's shoulder, "Boy, what a cat-astrophe."

"You can say that again."

She pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his jaw, "Paw-don me, but you obviously just want me to indulge your raging pun kink."

"Mm, stop that, you're turning me on," he joked, tilting her mouth up to meet his once more.

Maybe she took this as a challenge, because their kiss soon resumed at the same intensity. Maybe it was because her shirt had rode up slightly and exposed the toned stomach beneath. Maybe it was because when they kissed, he could feel her chest against his and was reminded that she was no longer wearing a bra. Maybe he really did have a kink for a sly pun or two.

But regardless of the reason, Marinette's hands were skirting across Chat's abs, and her tongue was twisted tenderly into his, and she pressed her body into his, as close as it could go, pressed her breasts into the hands that cupped and teased them. Chat had a strange feline instinct in him, and, with happy hands, he near-kneaded her chest. But then he felt her smirk against him, remembered himself, and focused on her sensitive nipples as they hardened beneath his touch.

Chat knew his own body was responding in similar ways, and the suit both hid and accentuated her tactile tortures. Each of his most tender parts strained against the tight leather. Though the immoveable fabric must somewhat dulled her touch - god, how he wished that zipper was functional - it itensified its aftermath. He was hot, his arousal ached in its confines, and she had the _gall_ to make it worse by stroking his cock through the suit.

Chat moaned. That was too much. He tugged Marinette's shirt up over her head, and while she was still struggling with getting out the garment, he brought his mouth down onto the new skin, worshipping her breasts with his lips and tracing the ridges of her hips with his claws as he did. She wriggled beneath him - impatient? - and pulled gently at his hair, vying for a kiss. But his lips were busy elsewhere, and in fact making their way lower down. As he crossed by her navel, her hips bucked upwards, seeking more. He caught her hips by his fingers, pushed her back into the sheets, and held her there, inched slowly downwards with his lips, his tongue, his fingers. He traced the band of her jeans with a cold claw, and began to pull them down.

Marinette sighed. Ordinarily, Chat would have concentrated on her small sounds, maybe nipped her thighs to show his appreciation. But right now, he wanted to concentrate on what he was seeing.

His girlfriend. Flustered and shirtless. And wearing cat-print undies.

She opened her eyes, grinned down at him, cocky despite her smouldering blush, "I paw-t you might like that."

He pressed a kiss to the fabric between her legs, then up to her chest, then her mouth, "You've been leading me on all night, haven't you, princess?"

"I _might_ have looked up a few cat puns to make sure I was totally purr-pared."

He nuzzled her neck, unable to keep in his soft, indulgent moan, "You treat me so well."

She hummed in contentment, bringing her arms up and around his neck, toying with the golden hairs at its nape. She fidgeted slightly beneath him, pent-up arousal keeping her from being still.

Chat noticed this, looked up at her, "Except, perhaps, not exactly 100% leading me on?"

"Well..." she pouted, propping herself up so that her breath tickled his face, "Not exactly 100%. Earlier this evening, I was thinking that my ideal way to spend the night was with a cat between my legs," with a deft movement, she hooked her legs around his waist, "And I guess I got lucky."

That was too much. Those pants were coming off. He was sure she wouldn't mind.

(Not when his tongue always made her mewl for more.)


End file.
